So Sorry
by Liselle129
Summary: The Doctor, though still dealing with his own loss, must break the news of the Ponds' disappearance to Brian. Two men sharing their grief and gaining some understanding of each other.


Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or have any claim to it. I thank BBC America and digital cable for introducing me to the newer episodes.

Author's Note: I know that many have written scenes like this already. I'm writing this mostly because I had an idea that just wouldn't let me go. Besides, now that I've seen the Christmas special, I figured out how to end it. Does anyone know why River Song isn't with him? I thought she said she would join him at the end of Angels Take Manhattan.

**So Sorry**

The Doctor stood before the door, hesitating. He'd already been staring at the wooden thing for quite some time, the very picture of a man in turmoil. Another two minutes, and he'd cross the line into the ridiculous. He'd been dreading this meeting ever since leaving Manhattan several months ago, but he owed it to Brian to tell him the truth. He couldn't just let him sit here, alone, wondering why his son and daughter-in-law never came back. Granted, the Doctor could just run off for a year or so with no one the wiser, but he didn't think the explanation would get any easier with time. Besides, the longer he put it off, the more likely he was to get distracted and come up with reasons not to return. It had to be now.

The Doctor took a deep breath and knocked. Brian Williams opened the door, his face lighting up when he saw who it was. The Doctor's hearts constricted painfully in his chest.

"Doctor!" Brian greeted him cheerfully. Seeing the Doctor's somber expression, however, his face quickly fell. He began to look behind his visitor for the faces that weren't there. "What is it? Where are Rory and Amy?"

"I'm so sorry, Brian," said the Doctor glumly. "So terribly, terribly sorry. I failed you, and I failed them. I never meant for this to happen."

"You promised, Doctor!" the old man cried accusingly. "You promised me they wouldn't die! You wouldn't let them!"

"I know, and they didn't! Well, all right, _technically_, I suppose they did, but not in the way you mean. I—" The Doctor forced himself to stop. "It's a bit complicated, I'm afraid. May I come in? Please?"

Brian wavered a moment before stepping back and allowing him entry. The Doctor watched several of the emotions associated with grief cross the human's features – anger, denial, sadness. The Gallifreyan recognized them all easily, having experienced them himself as he dealt with his own loss.

"I don't understand," Brian admitted.

"I know. I'll try to help you with that. Do you mind if I make some tea?"

"Help yourself," offered his host, sounding numb now. The Doctor tried to collect himself as he busied himself about the tea things. He was hardly ready to deal with this himself, but it had to be done. He'd been unable to keep River as his companion, seeing in her too much of a reminder of what he'd lost. They were fated to meet again, he knew, but he couldn't face her yet.

At last, the two men sat at the kitchen table, teacups in hand. The Doctor explained, as best he could, about the weeping angels, what they were and how they fed.

"I don't know why they wanted Rory so badly," he concluded. "Amy and I chased him as they pulled him farther into the past. We finally reached him, and the two of them created a paradox to break the cycle. We thought it had worked, but…" He paused, gathering his nerve. This was the difficult bit. "We were in a graveyard, back where we'd begun. Then Rory saw a stone with his name on it. His full name. An angel appeared behind him, and he vanished. Just like that. You must believe me, there was nothing I could do!"

The two sat in silence, waiting as Brian took it in. The Doctor silently pleaded with him to believe, to understand.

"And Amy?" Brian ventured at last.

"She stared at the angel long enough to say goodbye. She couldn't let Rory die alone." _Again, _the Doctor added mentally, but Brian didn't need to know that he and Amy had witnessed Rory's solitary death. "She told me her place was with Rory. Then she was gone." All the pain of that loss hit the Doctor anew, fresh once more with the retelling. He closed his eyes and gripped the table.

"But if they're in the past, you can check in on them, can't you?" asked Brian. "Make sure they're all right?"

"No, I can't," the Doctor replied, feeling a wave of helplessness pass over him. "Because of the paradox they made, they became part of fixed time. I can't ever interact with them again. Not ever." A few tears began streaming down his face, and before he quite realized what was happening, he was outright sobbing, like a child. He'd lost so many companions before, but somehow, this was different. The Ponds were special, yes, but it was more than that. After centuries of observing and spending time with humans, he finally understood the phrase "so near and yet so far." As Brian had pointed out, the Ponds were right there, in New York's past. He could go to the years in which they lived, but he could not contact them. He'd never again receive one of Pond's hugs or be invited to a family dinner where an extra place was always set. The finality of it was like a crushing weight.

The Doctor could feel the discomfort of the man across from him, caused by this emotional display, but he was powerless to stop it until it had run its course. He pulled a handkerchief from one of his bottomless pockets.

"S-sorry," he stammered out. "Please don't leave." He scarcely saw Brian's nod through the veil of tears. Eventually, the Doctor recovered himself, and he cleared his vision to see that Brian had also been weeping.

"Please forgive me," the Doctor apologized. "I'm not used to feeling helpless."

"I think I understand," replied Brian. "In fact, it's a rather gratifying thing to know that my son was so loved." He placed a sympathetic hand on the Doctor's sleeve. The alien looked down at it, confused and bemused. He'd intended to be strong and comforting to this bereaved father but wound up being comforted himself. It only made him feel worse. He didn't deserve to be forgiven, to be comforted. It was all his fault.

"I've never seen two people love each other more," he said truthfully.

"I was including you, too, Doctor," Brian clarified softly. Startled, the Doctor looked up. Love was not a word that he often used to describe his own feelings. It wasn't that he didn't feel it, but his emotions were not human, and using human words for them didn't fully encompass them. Still, he'd spent so much time among Earth people that a lot of their characteristics had rubbed off over the centuries.

"Yes, I did love them," he confessed, feeling a little better for having said it aloud. "Both of them."

"They loved you, too, Doctor. Never doubt it."

He didn't doubt it. But in the end, Amy had loved Rory more than she loved her "raggedy man." That was as it should be, of course, and he didn't blame her, but that didn't stop it from hurting.

"So, what happened to them? In the past?" Brian inquired. "Do you know?"

"They lived long, happy lives," the Doctor assured him. "Rory was 82 when he died, Amy by his side. She followed some years later, at age 87. They…they had a daughter."

"A daughter? I'm a grandfather?"

"Yes. That's a story for another time, perhaps. I can introduce you, at some point." The Doctor wondered if he should reveal his unique relationship with River Song. He decided not to mention it. It was one more complication, and he felt that Brian had sustained enough surprises for one day. "They're fixed in time, but she isn't. I've met her several times as an adult. I can also take you to their grave. It's in New York."

"I'd like that. Both of those things. But not right now."

"Not right now," the Doctor agreed, relieved. He stood up abruptly. "I'd better go. I just…felt I needed to tell you what happened."

"I do appreciate it. I know how hard this must have been for you." Brian saw the Doctor to the door.

"You're taking this very well," the Doctor remarked. "You sure you don't want to pop me one? I wouldn't mind." He even stuck out his chin invitingly, but Brian shook his head.

"No. I might have been tempted at first, but you're an impossible man to stay angry with, especially when I can see how much pain and guilt you're already feeling. I'll grieve in my own way, but…" he shrugged, suddenly reminding the Doctor very much of Rory. "I know that they had more than 50 happy years together. That's more than many people get. More than I got." He gave the Doctor a sad smile. "What more does a parent want, in the end, than to know their children lived long, full lives with the ones they loved? I'll miss them, but I can also be happy for them."

The Doctor bowed his head, unable to answer and wishing he could derive similar comfort from Pond's last message to him.

"Where and when will you go?" Brian broke the silence.

"Oh, anywhere," the Doctor replied, his tone more hopeless than careless. The TARDIS was his only refuge, but even she held little solace for him now.

"Alone?"

"At present. Why?"

"You shouldn't be alone, Doctor."

The Doctor struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. That was what _she _had said. Among the last words written to him in that blasted book.

"I expect I won't be for long," he said wryly, his mouth twisting satirically. "I can't seem to help myself. I invite people into my life, ruin theirs…"

"That's not true, Doctor! Never think it! You save lives, all the time. I've seen you save the entire human race. Rory and Amy loved spending time with you. I…I don't think they'd have given it up, even knowing what would happen."

The Doctor paused, thinking. He didn't think they would have, either. That didn't lessen his guilt, however. The fact remained that he was the Pied Piper, luring innocent souls to their doom. That they enjoyed the experience only made it seem more sinister. Despite what he'd just said, he didn't think he could bear to do this anymore.

"And you, Brian?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Would you prefer that I'd never walked into your life – or theirs?"

Brian paused, thinking it over carefully. His eyes never left the Doctor's.

"No, Doctor," he said firmly. "Without you, they might never have met, fallen in love, and married, and their marriage certainly wouldn't have been as strong. You opened whole worlds to them, gave them a secret to share with one another. As for me, you showed me that the Earth is just a small planet in a large universe, but for all that, it has a lot of fascinating things to see. I've driven a spaceship and ridden a dinosaur. I've helped save the world from alien cubes. I enjoyed a closer relationship with my son, once I found out about this other life of his. Whatever loss I'm feeling right now, I'm grateful to you for all of this. I knew the risks, and so did they."

The Doctor merely stared at him for a long moment.

"You're a remarkable man, Brian Williams," he stated at last.

"Not at all, Doctor. Just an ordinary man who's become aware of the wonders the universe holds." He opened the door. "You know, Doctor, I'm not going to live forever."

"Neither am I, come to that. Just a very, very long time." He could hear the weariness in his own voice.

"My point is, don't wait too long to come back. There are still at least two things I need from you. And it might be nice, once in a while, to have someone to talk to about my son. Really talk, I mean, about the things I can't tell anyone else."

"How much time do you think you'll need before my next visit?" The Doctor was not planning to return very soon in subjective time, but Brian would never know if he was gone a century, since he could just pop in any time. He should probably make sure he did it before his next regeneration, though. He didn't think Brian would take it well if a completely new person showed up in a few months, claiming to be the Doctor.

"I think six months will do it. I'll need to clear out the house, figure out what to tell our neighbors…. I'll stay busy and wait for you. Next time, I wouldn't mind if you materialized right in the living room. Probably more convenient."

The Doctor inclined his head and went on his way. His outpouring of grief, he'd discovered, had left a large emptiness behind. Some part of him knew that this wasn't right, wasn't him, but for the time being, he didn't care. Emptiness was far better than pain. He could live with emptiness – for a few decades, anyway.


End file.
